Ling Yiyi pursed her lips into a smile and leaned forward proactively.
After being married for over a decade, they could be considered an old couple, no longer
the shy newlyweds of the past.
Twenty marks the age of maturity, thirty brings stability, forty sheds confusion, fifty embraces destiny. Time flows swiftly like water, unnoticed, Lin Xian has reached the age of sixty.
Life is like a journey, and Lin Xian feels very satisfied with his own voyage.
The winter afternoon sun is incredibly lazy.
Sitting on the balcony, Lin Xian is holding a newspaper, with Ling Yiyi beside him, squinting her eyes as if dozing off.
Time, after all, has left traces on her face. Their decades of companionship have long fused love and familial affection together.
As people age, they become fond of reminiscing.
Lin Xian vaguely remembers that in his youth, he seemed to have once had a terribly realistic yet odd dream.
